


Spotlight

by deebeebird



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Angst, F/F, Fingerfucking, Jealousy, Unrequited Love, wow what a variety of tags lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 17:10:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14981741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deebeebird/pseuds/deebeebird
Summary: Lena Oxton has been told that Amélie Lacroix is gone, that only Widowmaker remains. Maybe it's that Lena loved Amélie once, but she can't believe it.And she's about to wish she wasn't right.





	Spotlight

**Author's Note:**

> Oops, turns out I didn't bring over everything I've written so far for the Overwatch Kink Meme! So here's some surprise Spiderbyte and sad Widowtracer for you good people. 
> 
> Originally posted on the Overwatch Kink Meme, in response to this prompt: https://overwatch-kink.dreamwidth.org/679.html?thread=1144231#cmt1144231

The first time Tracer was re-introduced to Amélie Lacroix, she had been ordered to kill her on sight. It wasn’t Amélie anymore, Reinhardt had told her gently before sending her on the mission. Talon had taken Amélie away, replaced her with Widowmaker, who was herself nothing more than a weapon. A weapon used against Ana, Tracer reminded herself as she followed her team into Talon’s latest hideout.   
  
It hadn’t stopped her from hesitating when she first saw her, loading her rifle slowly and methodically. Reinhardt was right—that wasn’t Amélie. Amélie hadn’t had blue skin or a tattoo on her back, and she had been a dancer, not a sniper.  _It’s not her. It’s not her._  And yet Tracer couldn’t raise her weapon, not even when Widowmaker looked over her shoulder and took her in.   
  
“Ah. Lena.” Her voice was the same, soothing and decorated with that thick French accent that had always been so captivating. Tracer opened her mouth, and nothing came out. She had to force herself to take a step back even when Talon’s new star assassin rose to her feet. “It’s dangerous for you to be here, chérie. Especially if you won’t kill me.”   
  
“I-I will kill you.” Tracer’s voice was finally working again, even if it shook, and she rose her pistols. “I will.”   
  
“You won’t,” Widowmaker countered, her lips curled ever so slightly. But that wasn’t right, Tracer thought, because they had told her that Talon had taken Amélie’s emotions away, and that Widowmaker didn’t feel anything except for satisfaction following the kill. It couldn’t be a smile, no matter how badly Tracer wanted it to be.   
  
“It’s alright,” Widowmaker said suddenly, snapping her opponent from her reverie. “I won’t kill you either. Not this time.” She let her rifle rest on her shoulder, and gestured at the door behind her. “Go on, little one. Run back to your friends.”   
  
And Tracer did. She wasn’t certain why, considering that she knew that she’d never have a better chance to kill Widowmaker as she had been ordered to. But she blinked back to the team all the same, told them that she had encountered the sniper but that she had gotten away, kept quiet on the shuttle ride home. She would regret it, she knew that. But…  
  
_Ah, Lena…_  It rang in her ears, that sweet voice she had savored once. Her eyes had met Widowmaker’s and all she had seen were the eyes of Amélie Lacroix, gazing with interest and amusement while she sat at Gérard’s side.  _She killed Gérard, too,_  Tracer thought, frustrated.  _She killed him in his sleep. I should have killed her. I failed him._  Had it not been bad enough that she had fallen hopelessly, helplessly in love with his wife? Now she couldn’t even honor his memory properly?   
  
_She called me chérie. And little one. Just like she used to._  She couldn’t believe it didn’t mean anything. Talon hadn’t taken all of Amélie away, if she still remembered that her name was Lena, that she was with Overwatch, that they might have even been friends once. She wasn’t sure if it made her feel better, she mused that night as she flopped into her bed, gazing at the ceiling. People had noticed that the usually perky Tracer was quiet, and she didn’t want to have to explain herself.   
  
_It is still Amélie._  But that meant that Amélie had accepted her fate. She was with Talon, and the story of her and Tracer could only end with a well-placed shot.   
  
Maybe. 

* * *

In the months that followed, Tracer gripped onto the tiniest hope that the part of Amélie left behind could be reasoned with. She followed team after team in order to hunt down Talon, defended her teammates, offered to branch off and take out the sniper. She learned to dance Widowmaker’s dance, and the two fought on balconies and catwalks, firing shots that never quit hit their targets, throwing banter at each other. And every time, Widowmaker called her  _chérie_  and won the game just like that. Every time, she got away, though never without a wink or a kiss blown at the young Overwatch agent.   
  
Then Overwatch fell apart, and Tracer spent a few blissful years not wondering about Amélie, not playing the game or dancing the dance that always tripped her up. But when she returned to Winston’s side and realized that Talon was still out there, with Widowmaker as notorious as ever, her heart plummeted into her stomach and she wondered if this was what it was like to be a fly caught in a web. She followed her gorilla friend to Monaco on a tip that Doomfist was out of prison and recruiting Talon’s best and brightest minds. She scaled the walls of the casino, peering into windows, looking for the names on the list. The Reaper. Sombra. Widowmaker. They were supposed to be here somewhere. She paused on a particularly spacious windowsill, allowing herself to catch her breath before glancing into the window next to her.   
  
And she froze.   
  
Amélie was there, just as the intel had said she would be. She was sprawled on a chaise lounge in the dimly lit room, her hair falling out of its bun and her head falling against the back cushion as she kissed the shorter girl straddling her waist. Tracer’s breath hitched, but she found that she couldn’t tear herself away, and remained perched there, her mind blank of anything except the sight of the two women.   
  
Amélie’s lover— _Sombra, they call her Sombra,_  Tracer reminded herself—was trailing her lips down to her partner’s neck. Even from a distance, the Brit could see her trembling when Amélie worked her hand between her legs, and she pulled back to make some comment that Tracer couldn’t hear through the glass. Amélie’s lips curled in a slight smile, and Tracer felt her eyes sting. That was Widowmaker, she tried to tell herself, and Widowmaker wasn’t supposed to smile or feel anything at all. Except for those moments between fights, so many years ago, when it was at her. She had thought it was special. She had been so young.   
  
Amélie moved suddenly, flipping her and Sombra both so that she was on top now. She pushed forward and Sombra’s mouth dropped open with pleasure, her fingers digging into Amélie’s shoulders. Tracer watched Widowmaker’s whole body move with the thrusts of her hand, the spider tattoo on her bare back seeming to taunt her as she watched from the outside. It was some cruel joke, she thought, that she could finally watch Amélie in the midst of pleasure and it was from the other side of a window, with someone she was starting to hate. She had imagined it so many times, but never like this. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.   
  
_Why don’t you leave?_  a voice nagged inside her head.  _You don’t have to watch._  But she couldn’t stop. She was glued to the window with some masochistic hunger, at once filled with a need to be on that couch and trapped with a heartache she had never felt before. She let her palm rest lightly against the glass as Amélie’s mouth strayed from Sombra’s breasts and the two kissed deeply.   
  
When the taller woman pulled away, she stroked the side of Sombra’s face and said something. Sombra grinned. Tracer understood.   
  
_She loves her._  Even if that wasn’t what Amélie had said, the two were tangled up in a way far more intimate than a simple, spur-of-the-moment hookup could ever achieve. Amélie’s eyes were tender even as she brought Sombra closer to orgasm, and even if she wanted to, Tracer couldn’t leave now. It was hard to breathe as she watched the shorter woman arch her back and scream, loud enough that she could hear it muffled by the glass.   
  
" _Amélie!_ "  
  
Amélie. Not Widowmaker. Sombra had unlocked the right to call her by a name that was supposed to be a memory. A name that was supposed to belong on Tracer’s lips someday, somehow.   
  
“Tracer? Can you hear me?”   
  
The sound of Winston’s voice, garbled by the walkie-talkie’s static, ripped her out of her thoughts. Her fingers shaking, she scrambled for the button.   
  
“I hear you, big guy! I haven’t found a way in,” she murmured, finally hoisting herself up onto the roof and away from the window.   
  
“Me neither,” Winston reported with a sigh. “This place is more crowded than I figured. How about we regroup and talk over where to go from here?”  
  
“Copy that,” Tracer replied, hoping that she sounded more professional than she felt. “I’ll meet you back at the rendezvous point. Tracer out.”   
  
In the silence that followed, she pulled her knees up to her chest and closed her eyes, letting the slight breeze caress her face. Faintly, she wondered what she would see if she lowered herself back to the window. Were they still there, or had they hurried back to the casino floor before they were missed? Had they left holding hands, or shared one more kiss before they left? Did Widowmaker call her  _chérie_  in that smooth voice of hers? Did Tracer really want to know?   
  
They had been wrong, Tracer thought as she began the slow, careful climb down the wall. Amélie wasn’t gone. She was still there, and she was just as capable of feeling as she had always been. Tracer knew that from the way she looked at Sombra in that moment.   
  
One time, in the midst of a fight, Widowmaker had told her that she had learned to live one step ahead, that Tracer would never be able to out-dance her. Tracer finally understood that she had been right. 


End file.
